


Leaf Subsides to Leaf

by Dracoduceus



Series: Nothing Gold [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanahaki AU, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Rest of the team mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 14:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: “We all make mistakes,” McCree told him, carefully picking his words. “We all do the wrong thing with the best intentions.” He squeezed Hanzo’s hands. “Remember the willow?”Hanzo blinked. “Of course.” He swallowed hard, looked away. “It was cut down. After you left. After Genji. I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.”“Well, one of my biggest regrets is what I said to you the last time we were both there,” McCree said quietly.





	Leaf Subsides to Leaf

**Author's Note:**

> Set just before and some time during [Eden Sank to Grief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967481/chapters/32155710). 
> 
> McCree's point of view on his life and seeing Hanzo again.

_ It was a strange sensation, _ McCree mused as he stood on the catwalks in the hangar.  _ Being back with people that gave a damn. _

He was used to putting on the act – he couldn’t feel doubt or worry about the lie or fear about how his teammates would react.

And it’s not like he wasn’t used to such deception, not with his background in covert ops. His was just…an extended cover story. An extended cover identity.

He took a deep drag of his cigarillo, filling his lungs with smoke he could no longer taste. On the plus side he couldn’t even really feel cravings anymore so addiction was…well, it was interesting. His body could still go into withdrawal and had more than once as he made his travels after the fall of Overwatch.

“It’s just as well that I kept my mask on,” Genji said as he approached, his footsteps giving him away. McCree knew that it was just to be polite, that the click and clatter of his metal feet on the metal catwalk was a lie to let McCree know he was coming. “Your taste in cigars has gotten worse over the years.”

“That’ll happen,” McCree replied, concentrating on the tone of voice he should be having for a conversation with an old friend. “When you’re on the run with a 6-mil bounty on your head. Can’t always stop for an expensive smoke.”

His favorites had been given to him by Reyes for jobs well done. They were the expensive kind, ones that took money to buy.

Money that, after the Fall, McCree no longer had.

“What?” Genji teased. “No hug for an old friend?”

McCree snorted and turned around. There was a man hiding by the door of the catwalk but by the way Genji was deliberately ignoring him, McCree figured he was safe enough. He pulled Genji into a hug and put his cigarillo out on the plates of his chassis.

“Not cheap plastic,” McCree teased as he tucked the stub away. As if he had been testing Genji’s armor rather than his patience. “I see time’s been treating you well.”

“Yes,” Genji replied. “I’m made of premium omnic parts now.”

McCree snorted. “Well? You gonna introduce me to your friend?”

There was a telling pause as Genji hesitated. “Of course,” he said in a strange tone of voice. “But I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Genji led him back to solid land and into the room where the man hid. As soon as McCree’s eyes adjusted to the gloom after being out in the sunlight walkway, he found that Genji had been correct.

For a moment McCree was young again, had two whole arms and a brain more in his dick than his skull. For a moment he was beneath a willow tree in an expensive garden with a lap full of an eager young man, the heir to a powerful  _ yakuza _ clan.

For a moment he could hear their whispered words, feel the feverish and secretive kisses they traded. He could remember the smell of the cherry blossoms and the willow, feel the dirt beneath him and the knobs of the tree digging into his spine and coccyx. The little drainage creek hid the softer sounds they made, the breathy whispers and the soft, wet sounds of their kisses.

It seemed that the man across from him was struck with the same memory, his eyes widening. McCree swallowed hard. For the first time he truly did feel Empty, felt like a hollow clay figure that only pretended to be human.

_ He was, though _ , he told himself. He had no heart, no emotion any longer; he was less than an omnic who could at least feel.

Omnics, at least, were able to make an argument that they had a soul.

Instead he plastered a roguish grin on his face and tipped his hat at Hanzo. “Howdy,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

So long without a heart it was hard to reconcile this new man with the man he once knew. When last he saw Hanzo he was young, looking as if he were still growing into his features. Now he looked every part the tired man that McCree felt at heart.

(If McCree could feel such a thing, of course.)

Gone was his long black hair tied behind his head with a ribbon. The ribbon – or some form of it – was still there but his hair was shorter, held into a spiky ponytail on his head. Silver spread from his temples but he kept his bangs long, his hair an old vanity of his from his youth.

McCree remembered spending hours (or what felt like it) just brushing his hair. Hanzo would tip his head back, lean into the gentle indulgences. McCree used to find him hair ties – ones that weren’t the fancy silk ones that his family gave him but silly ones like Pachimari and Hello Kitty-decorated ones just to see him smile.

Now it was cut raggedly short and his eyes told McCree that it was out of shame rather than because he changed his style to hide.

He was far from a broken man, still holding himself proudly in front of McCree, his chin held up and his shoulders squared. But he looked like a single puff of air would knock him over.

McCree felt arousal shiver low in his belly, a very odd sensation when you were Empty. He could write an entire book about if he felt so inclined. Hanzo had grown into his body, filling out across the chest and shoulders, enough that he looked much larger than McCree did despite being shorter.

At first Hanzo didn’t respond, perhaps coming to grips with McCree’s appearance as well. Then he bowed so stiffly that McCree thought his spine would shatter. Hanzo didn’t say anything, his jaw clenched and something bitter like regret in his eyes.

Genji said something and then they left McCree to stand like an idiot in the doorway.

Turning on his heel, McCree walked quickly to the other side of the hangar, finding an old forgotten stairway there, and took all of the back and secret ways to the residential quarters. Once they were only for officers with the “regular” operatives stuck in the barracks but now, with so few people returning for Winston’s Recall, they were able to afford to have rooms of their own, at least for now. A few of them opted to share – Mei-Ling and Dr. Ziegler, surprisingly being two of them – but most appreciated the moments to themselves while it lasted.

Safely in his own quarters, McCree took a shaky breath. Empty men didn’t cry but damn did he want to, did he feel like he was about to…at least according to what he could feel of his body.

Hanzo.

Digging around in his bags, McCree found a blue ribbon that he had always kept with him. It was rough canvas or muslin, dyed a dusty blue that had once been tied around an enormous bow wielded by a young lord. McCree had given Hanzo his handkerchief, the splash of red around his neck like blood, and Hanzo had given him the ribbon from his bow.

_ This is me, _ Hanzo had said, pressing a kiss to McCree’s lips. In the present, McCree lifted his gloved hand to touch the same place, almost able to feel the pressure of the young heir’s lips, the weight in his lap, the warm puffs of his breath as he spoke.  _ My bow is a part of me. My blades…they are just objects to me. I wield them as well and better as I am expected as the heir but my bow…my bow is me _ .

McCree had understood and did even now. His bow was an extension of Hanzo – just as Peacekeeper was to Mccree.

It was the closest they had ever gotten to saying  _ I love you _ in the secret space beneath the willow’s branches.

With a heavy sigh, McCree sat hard on the bed and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was worn, faded, and dusty. Once upon a time McCree had worn it on his hat but when he had nearly lost it, had nearly destroyed it in a fire and in a pool of blood, McCree had used another band and had kept this one safe.

Some days it had been too painful to look at so he didn’t. Especially after how things had ended between them. And until he had been Cut, McCree had regretted it every hour of his life, had replayed the conversation over and over again, his harsh words ringing in his head.

Perhaps that had been why he had been captured.

McCree’s comm rang and he answered it without looking who it was. “McCree, here.”

There was a long moment of silence and looking at the display, McCree was startled to find SHIMADA HANZO scrolling across it. His heart rose into his throat.

If he still had one, of course. As it was he felt light-headed, like he was about to fall over.

He hadn’t almost-felt in so long that he had forgotten what it felt like. Like that first step before a fall, like the lightheaded feeling of too much adrenaline. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t anything in particular but…it was as if the body tried to feel and something went wrong along the way.

“ _ Hello, _ ” Hanzo said over the line at last.

There was silence again. “Howdy,” McCree said after a beat. “What can I do for ya?”

“ _ I… _ ” he could hear Hanzo clear his throat. “ _ I was wondering if I could speak with you? Alone? _ ”

McCree smiled to himself though no one was there to see the lie. “Of course,” he assured Hanzo. “Where would you like to meet?” He considered offering his room but wondered if it was too presumptuous or if it would give Hanzo the wrong idea.

He realized that he had no idea what he wanted, had no clue what Hanzo could possibly be expecting from this talk.

“ _ Privately, please, _ ” Hanzo said on the other end.

“Certainly,” McCree replied on autopilot. “My room or yours?” he considered that. Hanzo was likely already off-kilter, feeling like an outsider, probably felt like he didn’t belong here. He would feel worse in McCree’s room, like he was invading someone’s space. “How about yours?” But that would make it feel like McCree was invading Hanzo’s space. “Or one of the old conference rooms?”

Hanzo didn’t respond for a long time. Maybe he was thinking the same things that McCree was. “ _ Your room? If that is acceptable? _ ” he paused. “ _ Genji and I are to share a room, it seems. _ ”

Before he could stop himself, McCree laughed. “Certainly,” he said. “Come on over – I’m in the south building, room 4.”

“ _ Thank you, _ ” Hanzo murmured and hung up.

Looking around, McCree made a face that no one but him would witness. What a mess.

He was just tucking the rest of his laundry away and had opened his window to air out the mustiness that didn’t particularly bother an Empty man when he heard a quiet knock on the door.

“Fancy seeing you here,” McCree said with a laugh that sounded lighter and happier than it should. “Come in.”

Hanzo obeyed quietly, his spine held so rigidly that McCree thought that it might shatter. “No, thank you,” he said when McCree offered him a glass of water. He said nothing else, sitting himself at the table and folding his hands in front of him like he was in a board meeting.

“You don’t need to do that for little ol’ me,” McCree told him. “Ain’t no need to put the walls back up.”

As if ashamed, Hanzo looked down at his hands. “It is…a bad habit of mine,” he admitted. “So long this had been…these roles were so ingrained in me that I do not know what is Hanzo and what is the Scion.”

McCree groaned as he folded himself into a chair across from him. He might have arthritis in his knee – it had never been quite the same after being captured before his Cut – but he couldn’t feel it anyway. “Fucked up,” McCree said. “But…I ain’t gonna rush ya. Take your time.” He smiled with a joy he was no longer able to feel. He knew that he would be elated to see Hanzo again.

Perhaps a little wary, a little hurt as well considering how they had ended it, but he supposed that a potential silver lining to being Cut was that he could pick and choose what to “feel”.

Hanzo looked down, looked like he wanted to slump over but as ever his posture was impeccable. “I…wanted to apologize. What I said to you – what I said  _ about _ you – has weighed on me for so long. Next to…next to what I did to Genji it might be the biggest regret of my life. So I appreciate that you are willing to speak with me like this.”

Before he could stop himself – before he could wonder if this was a bad idea – McCree reached out and rested his gloved hand over Hanzo’s. “Water under the bridge,” he said softly. “Look it… _ hurt _ .” He could remember that feeling. Like a rusty knife that had twisted in his chest. Like he was Empty even before his heart had been cut out. “But that don’t mean we can’t start again.”

The look on Hanzo’s face was priceless.

“I don’t know if I could do that again,” Hanzo said candidly. “Pretend as if nothing…”

“As if everything was before,” McCree finished for him, nodding. “As if Genji were still that little shit of a demon he was before. Well, he’s still a little shit of a demon,” he amended and Hanzo cracked one of his almost-smiles that McCree remembered from so long ago. He cleared his throat. “That’s fine, I…I don’t expect everything to go back to normal but at least now we have our closure.”

Hanzo peered at McCree, his face once more unreadable. “And if I wanted everything to go back to normal?” he asked. “Wanted to pretend that I hadn’t cut you away as surely as I had with Genji?”

McCree shrugged. “Ways I see it, we still have a lot to learn about each other,” he reminded Hanzo. “We ain’t the same men we were all that time ago. Time has a funny way of changing people. It don’t matter to me where we end up just that…I am happy to have you back in my life.”

And he was, McCree realized. As much as he was able to feel. It was as if he were slightly less Empty now, as if Hanzo’s mere presence had filled some of the void. Not enough to do anything – was more like a drop of water in an empty glass – but it was there and McCree could almost feel it.

“I murdered my brother,” Hanzo told McCree, his eyes dark and direct. “A month after you left, the Elders called me to a private meeting. He had grown rowdy, was taking too many risks, was drawing too much attention. They told me to handle him, to bring him to heel, or they will break him. So I broke him instead.”

His words were haughty, full of noble pride, but his eyes were haunted. Beneath McCree’s, his hands were shaking.

“We all make mistakes,” McCree told him, carefully picking his words. “We all do the wrong thing with the best intentions.” He squeezed Hanzo’s hands. “Remember the willow?”

Hanzo blinked. “Of course.” He swallowed hard, looked away. “It was cut down. After you left. After Genji. I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.”

“Well, one of my biggest regrets is what I said to you the last time we were both there,” McCree said quietly.

They were quiet for a moment and Hanzo looked to be struggling. “Where do we go from here?” Hanzo asked at last. “What a pair of fools we are.”

McCree forced a smile to his face. “Wherever we want,” he pointed out.

As if unable to help himself, Hanzo gave one of his not-quite smiles. It disappeared quickly, Hanzo’s stoic expression replacing it as if had never been there, as if afraid that someone would take his happiness away. He could tell that Hanzo still had a lot of conditioning to break through, even after all these years. It had taken McCree a long time to do the same but he couldn’t imagine the kind of damage Hanzo had to work through.

McCree’s had only been since he was a young idiot, after all; Hanzo’s had been most of his life.

“We shall take it slow,” Hanzo said, his voice hard. Perhaps if McCree had a heart he would have been hurt by it even if he could see that it was only a defense mechanism.

Taking his lead, McCree nodded and sat back in his chair. “Then slow it shall be.”

“I…need to come to grips with you being back,” Hanzo admitted. “I had thought…you would be angry. Coming here I had expected a fight. Verbal or otherwise.”

Tilting his head back, McCree scratched at the scruff on his neck. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “Maybe I should but I can’t.” Literally. He  _ literally _ can’t, but he didn’t say that out loud to Hanzo.

He realized that he didn’t  _ want _ to. Didn’t want Hanzo to know his shame – if he could feel such a thing – to feel…guilty? Maybe? That McCree was a lovesick idiot that fell for someone that didn’t love him back.

Yes. If he could feel emotion, if he wasn’t despairingly Empty, he would be  _ ashamed _ .

“Let’s start over,” McCree suggested. He held out his hand again. “Hello. Name’s McCree. Jesse McCree. I’m excited to work with you, archer.” He couldn’t help but add a wink at the end, just like he used to so long ago.

Just like he had, the first time he had been introduced to the brothers. Back when his brain was as much in his dick as his skull.

Hanzo blinked and then gathered himself, took a deep breath that seemed to magically straighten his already-perfect posture, seemed to make himself larger and more powerful. A trick he had no doubt been taught by those eel-like Elders.

“Shimada Hanzo,” he said, inclining his head like a lord.

If McCree’s heart hadn’t already been Cut out, he thought he might fall for him all over again.

He didn’t say this out loud, he only grinned, baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

* * *

Angela fussed over him during his checkup.

He was too thin, malnourished.  _ I’d been on the run, Ange _ .

He was smoking those  _ Gott- _ awful things.  _ Give a man his vices, Doc. _

His knee was acting up again, wasn’t it?  _ Wouldn’t right know now, would I? Don’t feel pain _ .

Oh, she swears that there was almost no point in sending half of them out to the field! Half of them were starved, the other half were too unhealthy for active combat. Somehow McCree managed to fit into both categories, or so it was implied by Angela’s pointed stare.

His sodium intake was too high.  _ Well, instant ramen is cheap and quick and it wasn’t like he could taste anything anyway. _

His triglycerides were  _ terrible _ ; so was his cholesterol. He didn’t really have a response for that.

His blood pressure was –  _ ah, spare me the commentary, Ange _ .

She checked his heartrate and blood pressure. His heartrate was steady with no sign of a murmur or any other complication; his blood pressure was at a normal levels though his diastolic was a little higher than she’d like but she assured him that it was still fine.

Not that he was worried.

A few times it seemed that she had forgotten that he was Empty, despite him being shirtless in front of her on the exam table. She asked him about pain and discomfort and he’d had to remind her a few times that he didn’t feel those things.

To be fair, O’Deorain had been mostly in charge of the care of the Empty ones. It was  _ her _ field, after all.  _ Her _ area of expertise.

But Ange adapted and did her best and even if he could, he didn’t think he’d be upset by her fumbles.

“How are you feeling?” Ange asked at the end of it as he pulled his button-down shirt back on.

“I don’t,” he pointed out with a crooked smile that always seemed to make her laugh.

She made a face. “With…how do you feel about Genji’s brother?”

“You got issues with him, Ange?” he asked a little roughly, frowning at her.

She looked away, down at her notes, biting at her lip. “How can you…bear to be near him? After what he did to Genji?’

“I ain’t got no feelings, Ange,” McCree pointed out with a hollow laugh. He could see that it sent shivers down her spine and he sighed. If he was to make this work, if he was to work with his new team, he needed to not give anyone reason to believe that he was Empty.

Even in this day and age, Emptiness still had a terrible stigma, one that the new Overwatch didn’t need.

“I know,” she whispered. “But…every time I see him I see Genji’s charts and the blood. There was so much blood. And the pain I saw in his eyes. I see it all again when I see him.”

McCree hummed, finishing the last button. He sighed when he saw that he had missed one and that his shirt was uneven. “Well,” he said slowly as he unbuttoned his shirt again. “Ways I see it, Ange, he’s feeling just as terrible about this as you are.”

“ _ He killed his brother, _ ” Angela snapped and then immediately looked away.

For a moment McCree didn’t say anything as he weighed his next words. “Regret’s a funny thing,” he said. “So’s brainwashing. Been through it myself. I at least had friends to help me. He’s been all alone. Ain’t asking ya to be his best friend just…” he shrugged helplessly. He knew that Ange would do her job, her oaths as a doctor meaning more to her than personal vendetta so he wasn’t concerned about that.

Ange said nothing more as McCree got dressed and left.

* * *

He found Hanzo wandering the halls late at night like a wraith.

“I can’t sleep,” Hanzo said though McCree didn’t ask.

McCree nodded and they both fell into step. He didn’t ask any more, didn’t ask why. Most of all, he didn’t tell Hanzo that it takes a bit more for him to be able to sleep. It was easier when McCree was exhausted but it wore out his body too much.

Sleeping pills were out of the question as well. Medication turned tricky when you were Cut.

Most nights he settled for a long walk around base before trying to sleep.

They were silent as McCree led Hanzo wordlessly to all of his hiding spots, showed him all of the secret places on this base and all the entrances to Blackwatch caches and barracks. Hanzo was as covert ops as McCree and Genji; as far as McCree was concerned, he needed to know these places too.

“Feeling better?” McCree asked quietly. In the distance, the waves roared as they crashed upon the sheer cliffs.

“My mind is still buzzing,” Hanzo admitted just as quietly. “I don’t think I can. But thank you for the distraction.”

For a long moment they stood just outside the residences and the officer dorms, letting the brisk sea breeze speak into the space between them. Doubt was in Hanzo’s eyes, regret weighing down his shoulders, his demons nipping at his heels.

Such things didn’t bother McCree. His entire life had been whittled down, whittled away to what he  _ wanted _ and what he  _ didn’t want _ .

So he reached out to touch Hanzo’s cheek with the back of his fingers because he wanted to.

He stepped closer and leaned in for a soft kiss because he couldn’t doubt.

Hanzo crashed into him with a low sound and McCree wrapped his free arm around Hanzo’s waist, gripped Hanzo’s cheek with the other.

Even in hindsight McCree wasn’t sure how they made it back to his suite. The entire walk seemed full of groping hands, of wet kisses, of bruises pressed into hips. McCree was barely able to lock the door before Hanzo was pulling him, growling like the dragon on his arm, into McCree’s bedroom.

It was too late, their need too great to do more than rut feverishly against each other.

Mumbling profanities into the air between them, McCree managed to wrestle them both free of their pants to take them both in hand. 

Sex wasn’t an emotion and he didn’t quite feel arousal but his body still experienced it. His breathing and heart rate picked up, blood pounded in his ears. The feeling of Hanzo against him, of the humid puffs of breath as Hanzo tucked his head into the crook of McCree’s neck did little for him but his body responded in kind as if on autopilot. 

As if McCree were merely an observer in his own body. 

He didn’t care much for sex after his Cut - it felt like everything was numb, as if he experienced everything in a drugged haze. But he thought that experiencing it with Hanzo, that feeling their slick skin slide against each other, that hearing the little sounds he made as McCree stroked them both, was nice. 

Was something he’d like to do again. 

Orgasm surprised him as he was unable to feel much of the lead-up to it. It made it feel like someone had punched him - suddenly there was no air in his lungs, his body was arching. Hanzo looked triumphant when he came and McCree, though he couldn’t feel the afterglow that he could remember in hazy memories, thought that he’d like to see the expression on hsi face more often. 

 

* * *

McCree woke with his alarm.

In some ways it was like a switch was flipped. One moment he was sleeping, the next he was awake.

Rolling over to shut off the alarm, he found Hanzo next to him, also wide awake. They stared at each other for a moment before McCree lifted himself up and over Hanzo to get at his comm. But then he was in the perfect place and Hanzo was looking up at him with dark eyes and it was easy for him to lean down and kiss him, gently.

Hanzo tried to slip his hands under McCree’s shirt but he stopped him, pulling them out and pressing kisses to Hanzo’s fingertips. “Scars,” he explained simply and Hanzo understood.

“Can I unwrap  _ this _ ?” Hanzo teased, his eyes twinkling as he tugged at McCree’s pants.

McCree gave him a husky laugh. “Didn’t you do that last night?”

They didn’t leave their bed until late, until well after McCree’s breakfast alarm.

Hanzo showered first, then McCree, both agreeing that two grown men of their size couldn’t both fit in the private shower that McCree had in his suite. When he came out, he found Hanzo sitting on the bed, looking down at his hands.

“I was thinking,” Hanzo said awkwardly.

McCree nodded, turning his back on Hanzo to change his shirt. He didn’t want Hanzo to see his scar. Didn’t want to hear those questions.

He didn’t want to subject Hanzo to any more guilt.

“What about?” he asked, turning around after he pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He sat next to Hanzo on the bed as he pulled on his socks and jeans.

“This is a bad idea,” Hanzo said, looking away. “I’m here…”

“To atone,” McCree finished for him. “Not for fun.” He couldn’t be hurt by it but knew that if he wasn’t Cut he would be. “I get it.” Getting to his feet, he tugged his pants the rest of the way up and buttoned them. Turning, he cupped Hanzo’s cheek. If he had a heart, it would break the way that Hanzo unconsciously leaned into it. He ran a thumb over Hanzo’s cheekbone. “I’m here for you,” he said after a moment of thought. “If you need a warm body at night or if you need someone to talk to. Ain’t…I ain’t expecting nothin’ from you. I learned my lessons.”

Hanzo looked away, his teeth gritted.

“Ain’t like that,” McCree told him firmly. “I learned my lesson of expecting things I ain’t getting back from more than just you. So I’ll be here whether you need me or not. But…I’d love to make up for lost time. As your friend at the very least.”

After a moment Hanzo looked back at him, his eyes as brittle as glass.

In the silence that followed, McCree came to a realization: their relationship, whatever it had been in the past, cannot continue.

Hanzo deserved better than an Empty man, even if it’s only in his bed. (But McCree was a selfish man, even Cut, and would take what he could get.)

He and Hanzo…well, they had their chance and he had blown it sky high. Time had healed the jagged scars of their last moments together, the Cut made him understand that Hanzo had probably been protecting him when he spoke so lowly of McCree to Shimada Sojiro.

But now McCree was Cut and Hanzo was…Hanzo was blessedly whole. He had the opportunity for love and laughter and joy with someone else. Maybe he didn’t want a family or anyone else but by god McCree wanted him to have that choice.

He didn’t want Hanzo chained to a man that couldn’t love him as much as he wanted to.

“It’s probably for the best,” Hanzo agreed and didn’t seem upset by the suggestion. He stood in front of McCree and offered one of his not-quite smiles. “If we’re to work together.”

McCree couldn’t feel but he could  _ want _ and he wanted to kiss the little twitch in Hanzo’s lips. He offered a wide smile instead, something that looked like what he had when he had known Hanzo a lifetime ago.

They parted ways after that, Hanzo to train and McCree to find food.

* * *

McCree could not feel disappointed. He could want more because wanting apparently wasn’t an emotion, but he could not feel disappointed.

He and Hanzo trained together, ate together, drank together when their demons grew too numerous. Sometimes when Hanzo’s demons threatened to swallow him whole, when he had that particular itch that McCree didn’t really feel, they fell into bed together. Hanzo never asked him to take off his shirt just as McCree never asked Hanzo why he clung so tightly to McCree as they fell asleep together.

Some nights they were unable to speak, growling and grunting and moaning against each other as they chased a few minutes of oblivion. Some nights Hanzo needed to bite and scratch and McCree let him, couldn’t feel the sting; some nights Hanzo needed to be held, sometimes he needed to be held down and taken apart.

McCree told himself – needlessly – that he didn’t want more.

And so it went.

McCree couldn’t be disappointed but he sometimes thought that if he could feel such things he would.

Then one day Hanzo began to cough. McCree watched it grow worse. He couldn’t feel worry and he couldn’t feel hate that he couldn’t worry. But he tried.

He gave Hanzo tea with lemon and honey, gave him orange juice and encouraged him to drink water. He cut him off during late night drinking and teased him that he needed beauty sleep, knowing that his vanity might win and Hanzo may actually sleep.

Hanzo didn’t, McCree knew he didn’t.

McCree couldn’t feel worry or fear but if he could they would be choking him as he found Hanzo coughing and retching in one of the public bathrooms. “ Should…mebbe…you should see Ange? ” he suggested.

McCree couldn’t feel worry or fear but if he could he may have fainted when they received the news during a team practice meeting. (But even with his heart he hadn’t been prone to such things.)

Everyone was concerned. Hanzo was quiet but he was still their teammate and had proven himself time and again in the field. He was their eyes when they couldn’t see and even if they couldn’t quite forgive him or accept him in some misplaced idea of payback or justice for Genji, they were afraid. For themselves, for him.

“What’s wrong?” Hana had asked in the harsher persona of D.Va. “What happened? He was fine not too long ago.”

Ange and Lú exchanged glances. They pressed their lips flat and shook their heads. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Zenyatta’s orbs were pressed tight to his neck and chest and though he had no face to show emotion McCree had worked with him and other omnics enough to know that he was distressed.

“How serious?” McCree asked, giving his voice a nervous edge.

“Don’t I deserve to know?” Genji demanded. “I am his brother.”

The medics all shook their heads. “How serious?” McCree asked again.

Ange’s eyes flicked to him. She wavered. “He will be out for a few days,” she said, just as she had said earlier. “I am removing him from the field for two weeks. After that time we will conduct an evaluation and see if he can return to the field.”

“So long,” Mei-Ling said, her hands pressed to her face. She had taken the gloves that she used for her endothermic blaster off and now her hands looked tiny compared to the insulated suit she wore. “It  _ must _ be serious.”

The medics all traded glances. “Yes,” Zenyatta agreed.

“When can you tell us?” Genji asked.

“When can we be updated on his status?” Winston asked at the same time.

“We are prepping him for surgery soon,” Ange said to Winston. “This is the leave we all asked for. As soon as he is out of surgery and we can move him back here, we will. Until then…”

Winston nodded and pushed up his glasses. “Can I go too?” Genji asked in a small voice. McCree wanted to ask the same thing but he knew better.

“No, my student,” Zenyatta told him gently and said nothing more. Genji looked down and away.

McCree pulled out his comm while everyone spoke, everyone clamored. He wanted to text Hanzo but what do you say? ‘ _ Good luck on your surgery’ _ ?

He wanted to say  _ I love you _ but he knew it was a lie; he  _ couldn’t  _ love and now was not the time to speak of it.

Unsure of what to say, he put his comm away.

Two days later Hanzo returned on a stretcher. That same day they received a briefing from Ange and Lú about the changes to their roster and most importantly (to McCree) the changes in Hanzo.

Hanahaki.

That night he snuck into Medical and sat beside Hanzo, toying with the precious ribbon of dyed canvas in his hands. Hanzo looked oddly small against the pillows. The cannula in his nose looked like the whiskers of his dragon but hung limp and lifeless. The blanket was pulled up to his armpits, the hospital gown preventing McCree from seeing the ropy scars on his chest.

Reyes used to call it the Mark of Cain – an old superstitious name.

“I loved you once,” McCree told the sleeping Hanzo, unsure what prompted him. He reached out and gently squeezed one of Hanzo’s still hands. “And then they cut it out of me. I’d still have loved you until I choked on it. I’d still love you if I could. I wish whoever you loved had loved you back. I wish that you didn’t have to live like me.”

He thought he felt Hanzo squeeze his hand but he knew it was only wishful thinking.

The next day Hanzo woke up to Zenyatta sitting beside him. When Hanzo felt up to it Zenyatta let the rest of the team in and McCree lingered in the back.

He had learned to tell Hanzo’s moods and thoughts, to read a thousand subtle signs in lifted and lowered eyebrows and the crinkle of his eyes, in the tics of his mouth. With the Cut it was like it had all been washed away.

He looked so strange now, sitting like an empty omnic shell while Genji yelled at him. There was no slight hunch of his shoulders as if to say,  _ I deserve this _ – as he always seemed to when Genji spoke to him or raised his voice. There was no crinkle in his eyes when he saw Hana, no slight twitch of his lips when his eyes finally rested on McCree.

Was this what McCree had looked like when he had woken up from his own Cut? Empty like an doll? Was this why Ana and Reyes had looked so uncomfortable, so unnerved around him until he had learned how to pretend he had emotion?

McCree couldn’t feel disgust or disappointment so he said nothing, only offered a half-smile.

Then days later when Hanzo showed him the plant that nearly killed him, a marigold that he knew was his a thousand times over, McCree thought that if he could feel he would cry. He might have cried, would have clung to Hanzo and told him that he loved him, he loved him, it nearly killed him but if he could still love he would still love Hanzo.

But McCree didn’t; he could feel. He couldn’t feel love or regret or the crushing despair that he knew he would feel if he could. He didn’t say any of this. It wasn’t something that he needed to say. There were no feelings to hurt, no regret to feel, no despair welling up in his throat like bile, like the willow leaves and cherry blossom petals that had nearly killed him.

It didn’t matter because he couldn’t feel; he couldn’t love.

And neither could Hanzo.

But...perhaps he didn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> [Shrug]
> 
> So that happened. It got away from me a bit but I had fun writing it. Hope you enjoyed it too. 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr at [Classywastelandbread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/). I ~~probably~~ won't bite. 
> 
> ~DC


End file.
